


you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow

by scandalous



Series: Kinktober 2019 [25]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brief body horror, Cannibalism Play, Creature Hannibal Lecter, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Size Difference, Teeth, Trust Kink, Xeno, light bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalous/pseuds/scandalous
Summary: Will trusts Hannibal, even when he's out of his person suit.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Kinktober 2019 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502783
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108
Collections: Kinktober 2019, Prompt Table Challenge: Sexy and Kinky





	you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow

**Author's Note:**

> **sexy and kinky @ creativechallenges:** Getting Off on How Much Partner Trusts Them  
>  **kinktober:** day 25 - monsterfucking
> 
> um. no idea what this is. i'm just a monsterfucker and i have only Vague Ideas about what creature!hannibal would look like. w*ndigo hannibal do NOT interact.
> 
> title from _the sharpest lives_ by my chemical romance. look, i gotta.
> 
> enjoy!

After three years of incarceration, Hannibal can finally take off his _literal_ person suit.

They're in the woods, an apt location for him to peel off his skin. He's made sure to wear it well, to know every crevice of how humans are supposed to act, even if his acting has always been a little off on purpose. He enjoys to leave hints, to watch realization dawn on humans' faces. Of course, it's never about his nature as a monster as he is— it's of a metaphorical monster, a murderer. No one of them knows he's a literal monster on top of that, except for Will.

Will knows him better than anyone will. And sure, Alana and Chilton probably wrote down a few notes about how his demeanor and sleeping patterns changed drastically about seventeen months into his imprisonment, but they probably told themselves it was the isolation, him slowly going mad, as much as he remained as sane as ever. They wouldn't fall down into the slippery slope of supernatural explanations. No, they never would. Two esteemed psychiatrists would never dare to do that.

Hannibal Lecter as he is known to the world — a human man, with twinkling dark eyes, graying hair — lays down on the warm grass of the summer heat. Or rather, his skin lays there. There's no blood, nothing, like a snake's old skin being left to dry in the sun. The difference is that this one, after this period of hibernation, goes back on.

He's never had a proper name for what he is. His parents were this creature too, of course, genetics and whatnot, but they died before they could tell him about his inheritance, that ran further than royalty and further than a ludicrous amount of money. He only figured it out when he ate Mischa.

"Will," he says softly, laying on the grass, his long tail over his face, covering him. His antlers sprout over his forehead, long and sharp and bony. They're only like a stag's in looks; they're too sharp, too thin, perfect to impale his prey in it. But he never has; he's always been a fan of the way humans do their violence, so he's tried his best to recreate it. Medicine seemed like the best way to go to learn about it in a legal way.

"Yes," Will says, leaning down to kiss him. He's got a thin layer of fur over his vaguely humanoid body, gray-brown, with markings again similar to deer's. His hands seem more like a bear's, though, fat with claws ready to make skin into shrapnel. "I'm getting the meat ready, darlin', just wait for me."

"I'm hungry," Hannibal says.

"I know, darlin'," he says. "Would you prefer it to be raw?"

"I want you to eat it too," he says, rutting against the grass lazily. "If it's raw you could get any amount of diseases."

"Alright," he says. "I guess I'm Eve, huh?"

"What?"

"Eve. You know, bringing you the forbidden fruit."

Hannibal laughs softly and leans in to kiss him, fur rubbing against Will's body hair. It's flimsy compared to his own. "Of course." He hums. "Would you be up for some fun? I've never really done anything in my true form. Kind of hard to."

Will hums in approval. "Of course. Let me just finish up."

He finishes cooking and he hands over a piece of the meat to Hannibal. Of course, it's not really cannibalism— he is not human. He is not a person eating another person; he's a creature eating a species below his own. It is just how the food chain goes. But for all intents and purposes, it's cannibalism to the eyes of all the humans who have only seen his person suit. He doesn't take it in his own hands, simply letting his fangs tease at the meat before digging in. It's cooked medium rare, just enough to still have that myoglobin he can pretend to be blood as it dribbles down his chin. 

He eats it eagerly, in gulps, sharp teeth tearing it apart, while Will's fingers still tease against his furry chin. He's reminded of Adam and Eve, every painting of Eve giving Adam the apple, him eating it carelessly. They are the first men in the world, and they will be the last, in their very own Garden of Eden. They're the men and the guardian angels both, fiery swords against anyone who dares cross its door without their express permission. 

Will pulls away, the other half of the meat— lungs— in his hands, mostly intact.

"I think you'll have to use a knife and fork," Hannibal drawls, and Will laughs softly.

He doesn't listen to his suggestion, because he leans forward to stroke his cock as he starts tearing the cooked lung apart with his teeth. They're human, not nearly sharp enough to make good work of it, but he still tries, his hand against Hannibal's length. He manages to tear off a portion and starts chewing on it, myoglobin dribbling down his chin as he leans in and kisses Hannibal. Hannibal gasps, moaning softly when Will pushes himself up against him, grinding up on his length with his own.

He's bigger than he is in his person suit, of course. Bigger, taller, wider. At least a head is settled between him and Will, perhaps a bit more. He moans as Will keeps kissing him, pretend-blood coating their teeth. 

There's a certain thing about this all, about the knowledge, the fact Will knows. He knows he could kill him any time— well, that's not true only to now, but especially now that he's shown himself, fangs against Will's tongue— but he trusts him not to. He knows he'll move mountains for him, kill for him, and he revels in it, the way he's managed to tame this great monster, this deer-bear _thing_ that feeds on human flesh.

Will's trust only makes him harder. He moans softly, hips bucking up into his hand as they make out.

"Will," he breathes out.

"Hannibal," he says, cupping his cheek, nails digging into it. His antlers press against the back of Will's neck if he cranes his neck just right. He can see himself impaling him, but he doesn't. Because Will, while part of a species inferior to his own, he's greater than all of them put together. Because he knows, and he understands, and he loves him nonetheless.

"I love you," Will breathes out. "I love you."

"Even without my person suit?" he asks teasingly, even though he can feel himself closer and closer to the edge, and they're barely started at all.

"Even more so without your person suit," Will groans. "Come for me, Hannibal. Come."

He obeys, as much as he hates the fact he submits easily to a human— but it's _his_ human, so he supposes it's okay. He breathes hard as he spills, white and sticky, all over their abdomens.

"I'd suggest for you to suck me off," Will says, "but I think your teeth have something to say in the matter."

He laughs. "I won't bite your cock off, Will."

"I'm not taking any chances, darlin'."

Hannibal rolls his eyes and accepts that, pulling Will down onto the grass before leaning his bearish hand toward his cock, starting to give him hard, broad strokes.

He loves Will. He loves how he knows, and he loves how he trusts him, and he loves how he's just as wicked as he is, perhaps more, considering it does not come in his nature, written in his DNA. He's the Eve to his Adam, the fallen angel he's dirtied.

He leans down to press a kiss to Will's neck, teeth nibbling along his throat, leaving a fine line of blood along their wake. Will doesn't mind, knowing he won't dig deeper than that. He could rip off his jugular like he ripped off Dolarhyde's— a little show of his, his feral nature taking over even while in his human veil—, but he knows he will not.

It's the trust, he reckons. It's just how much trust they put in each other.


End file.
